There’s been so much talk of beaches these days – whether my beach is better than yours – that I can’t help but remember those simpler days and holidays past. When one could go to a beach without being shamed for going to that beach.
I love the sea and beaches. In India, in the wicked West, and even in the evil East. This despite being scarred by being taken to Digha – that’s a beach in West Bengal that no one born after 1999 will know of – when I was 10. If the screaming hordes of Bengalis weren’t scary enough, my mother made us wade into the water, only for us to discover there was no beach but massive craggy rocks.
Then there’s Puri in Odisha, which was once beautiful and untouched. And Gopalpur-on-Sea – which would have possibly become a luxury resort if it was called La Gopalpur-sur-Mer.
There is Vietnam‘s Hue, where the water is so still you can swim for a mile. Or the lovely beaches in Galle in Sri Lanka, where you can’t venture into the stunningly blue waters for fear of being sucked under. Portugal has ‘Dover’ white cliffs and wild waves that body-slam you onto the seabed. I can understand why anyone would want to sit on a beach reading a newspaper and get photographed.
In 2022, I went to the Maldives to see what the fuss was all about. There were direct flights — you just had to ignore the women wearing velour track pants with ‘JUICY’ written on their posterior and the men in matching baba suits, and make your way to the furthest atoll – to find yourself in what can only be described as paradise. Not a soul on the beach, no clubs and casinos. Just the quiet, swaying palm trees, excellent cocktails, and baby sharks for company. This is not a place for the boisterous drunk Indian beach bum you find in Goa or Thailand. Which is why Andaman Islands – Havelock Island to be precise – was such a delight. Only the determined will make the arduous journey to Havelock. A flight from Delhi goes via Chennai, then a 2-hour ferry to Havelock, and you land in heaven. Radhanagar Beach does not have a soul on it. There are no loud tourists because there’s nothing to do in Andaman other than dip yourself in the blue waters, silence, and clean air. And swim like Dory in Finding Nemo. No drunken men will sway up to you on the beach, wander into the waters fully-clothed, play loud music, or make video calls, because there is no mobile signal to be found in Andaman.
The problem with India is that only the remotest of islands and holiday spots are worth visiting. We have no appreciation for the ecology or the environment. Unlike, say, Thailand, where despite Phi Phi Island being the main draw for tourists, the government stopped tourists to protect the island’s ecology. What? Not make money off a money-maker?!
The Maldives has maintained its exclusivity by ensuring tourists can’t bring in alcohol, and that only those who can pay a pretty penny – or like our celebrities who don’t pay at all – and who are looking for a quiet and peaceful visit. This isn’t a place for rowdy Indians like the ones who convinced Bhutan to levy an entry tax on Indians because one of our brethren climbed a stupa to take a selfie.
Aah, the Indian well-mannered tourist. Happy to litter, lech, and always ready to let their inner alcoholic out at the mere thought of the spirits. This is why keeping our ecologically pure islands and states as remote as possible makes sense. Make it near-impossible for tourists to venture there. After all, we can live vicariously by watching the privileged take a tour of the remotest islands and sharing their pictures on social media. That’s the least a true public servant should do for the common citizen.